


Jessica Jones and Spider-Man: Break You

by d0d0bird



Series: Marvel: Tales to Tantalize! [11]
Category: Alias (Comics), Jessica Jones (TV), Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Jessica Jones, Beating, Bit Gag, Blood, Bondage, Bondage and Discipline, But He Does Go Through Some Serious Shit First, Cable Bondage, Cable Gag, Drug Use, Electrocution, Electrotorture, Gags, Guidance Counselor Malcolm Ducasse, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Nudity, Obedience, POV Jessica Jones, POV Peter Parker, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Poor Peter Parker, Protective Jessica Jones, Psychological Torture, Restraints, Rope Bondage, Rope Gag, Size Difference, Size Kink, Strangulation, Submission, Torture, Verbal Abuse, Verbal Humiliation, Wilson Fisk Is Terrifying, belt gag, bound and gagged, cloth gag, drool, hand gag, male nudity, peter parker hurt, so much whump, stripped naked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:40:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21579316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d0d0bird/pseuds/d0d0bird
Summary: Peter hardened his face. He wasn’t about to let Fisk intimidate him.“I wanted to handle this myself,” said Fisk calmly, “You see, when a man such as me is faced with a man such as yourself… That is to say, when a commander who hasearnedhis power is faced with an uneducatedupstartwho thinks he knows better… It’s an opportunity to teach a necessary lesson.”Peter’s spine shivered with a wave of spider sense, but he was helpless to do anything. Fisk’s hand lunged into Peter’s face, muffling Peter’s nose and mouth as he let out a defiant “Mmph!” Fisk’s fingers squeezed into the sides of Peter’s head with growing pressure. Peter trembled as he started to feel the strain on his skull. Fisk stared intensely down at Peter, eyes filled with hatred and conviction.“Prepare yourself, boy. Because I am going tobreak you.”
Relationships: Jessica Jones & Mary Jane Watson, Jessica Jones & Peter Parker, Wilson Fisk/Peter Parker
Series: Marvel: Tales to Tantalize! [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1507763
Comments: 7
Kudos: 46





	Jessica Jones and Spider-Man: Break You

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in, it’s unlocked.”

Jessica heard the sound of the door opening but no answer or footsteps. She looked up from her laptop and saw Mary Jane standing in the doorway with a worried look on her face. She was wearing a worn set of overalls and boots.

“Red?” said Jessica, “What’s going on?”

“It’s Peter,” said Mary Jane quietly, “I think maybe something happened to him.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well,” began Mary Jane as she walked over to Jessica and sat across from her, “He didn’t come back from patrol the other night, which does happen from time to time, so I just went to class and shop as usual. But he still hasn’t come back and I haven’t heard from him at all since then.”

Jessica closed her laptop, listening closer. That was suspicious. It was extremely unlike Peter to keep any secret from Mary Jane. After all, he had told her about his secret identity and love for her almost immediately*. If he was going radio silent on her now, something was definitely wrong.

*As seen in [Spider-Man: The Girl Next Door](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21017798)

“Do you know if he was doing anything in particular other than patrol?”

“Yes,” nodded Mary Jane nervously, “but he made me promise not to tell you.”

Jessica’s eyes narrowed. That was certainly a red flag.

“Spit it out, Red.”

“He’s been going after Kingpin.”

“Shit!” cursed Jessica, pushing herself away from the table and standing up and turning away. She didn’t want to scare Mary Jane by letting her see how worried she was. Unfortunately, her initial reaction was enough to scare Mary Jane plenty.

“What?” asked Mary Jane nervously, “What is it?”

“Your boyfriend picked a fight with the most powerful man in the city,” said Jessica harshly, grabbing her phone, wallet, and keys off her desk, “He told you not to tell me because he knew I’d try to stop him.”

Jessica walked over to her coat rack and pulled on her new leather jacket. Then she grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder as she walked for the front door.

“So he IS in danger!” realized Mary Jane, standing up and walking after Jessica.

Mary Jane hurried after Jessica down the apartment hallways, practically having to run to keep up with Jessica’s brisk walking pace.

“We don’t have any time to waste,” said Jessica as they stepped into the elevator, “So you need to tell me everything Peter told you about this right now.”

Jessica was sugarcoating it. Kingpin had ruled the New York criminal underworld for as long as she could remember. No one knew his real identity, but every major crime syndicate in the entire city was connected to him. Countless investigative journalists, attorneys, and detectives had tried to find out who he was. Every single one of them had disappeared or turned up dead.

***

“ _Nostrovia!_ ”

“ _Nostrovia._ ”

Peter’s eyes blinked open as he came to his senses. He tensed his muscles, but found himself unable to move. He was in a metal chair and his wrists were strapped down tightly to the armrests. He was bound to it across the chest and at the ankles as well using similar cables. The cables were part of some sort of mechanism in the chair. His mask, gloves, boots, and web shooters were all gone, though he still wore the pants and shirt of his suit.

As Peter’s vision cleared, he saw two figures on a white couch a distance in front of him. One was a massive bald man in a black suit while the other was a smaller man with a tattoo of some sort of spiral on his hand. They were looking at one another, not him. Peter could smell vodka now and made note of the empty tumblers on the coffee table near the couch.

Peter was starting to remember the last thing that had happened. He had been in a warehouse… It was a chop shop, the biggest one in the city. It was run by the Bratva, who were closely tied to…

“Kingpin…” muttered Peter, realizing who was sitting before him, “Fisk…”

“He knows who you are,” said the smaller man. He had a Russian accent.

“He does,” responded the large man in a deep and contemplative voice, “All the more reason for me to be grateful for your services, Mr. Smerdyakov. I thank you.”

“ _Pozhaluysta,_ ” said Smerdyakov, “We trust you’ll show your appreciation.”

“Always,” nodded Fisk.

Peter watched silently as the two men stood up and shook hands. Peter tensed his muscles again as Fisk walked Smerdyakov to the door on the other side of the room. He couldn’t break through the restraints, even with all of his strength.

Peter began a quick survey of the room. It appeared to be a lavish penthouse. The couch that Fisk and Smerdyakov had been sitting on was as white as snow on an ebony frame. The ebony table in front of it matched. The hardwood floor was made from black wood as well and the walls were white, creating a pattern of black and white across the room. Small red vases and pillows dotted various surfaces, adding a red highlight to the aesthetic. Two thin marbel pillars held up the ceiling on either side of the main room. Peter couldn’t see any standard windows, but a skylight above and behind him let natural light shine down into the room. It seemed like it was late morning.

“By now you’re probably wondering why you can’t break free,” bellowed Fisk.

Fisk stood all the way across the room, but the voice was deep and echoed off the high ceilings and distant walls of the penthouse. Fisk was a man whose voice sat low in his stomach, giving him a powerful and imposing presence whenever he spoke.

Fisk’s appearance matched that voice. He stood almost 7 feet tall with shoulders as wide as a small car. The enormity of his size showed the most in his arms, which were thick like tree trunks. He wore a black suit that accommodated this figure, elegantly fitted around his enormous body to showcase his muscles.

“The Phidippus audax,” Fisk continued, slowly walking across the space to Peter, “better known as the daring jumping spider, grows to a mere 20 millimeters. Yet it is capable of leaping up to 50 times that distance. If that does not impress one at first, one should consider that a human with proportional capabilities would have the strength to lift over 6,000 pounds I have heard many stories of the feats of Spider-Man, but I have never heard of his power exceeding the tensile strength of 6,000 pounds."

Peter looked at the bonds holding him to the chair. They were dark grey steel cables, wrapped tightly around each point of restraint. Peter deduced that the mechanism ran the cables through the chair to a central point in the back. Fisk was right; Peter’s strength wasn’t enough to snap them. While Peter might have been able to bend the metal of the chair itself if he used all his strength, he wouldn’t be able to break free.

“Here I was, expecting you to give an introduction fit for the Godfather,” chuckled Peter, “but all you gave me was some lame biology lesson.”

A cold shiver went down Peter’s spine as Fisk struck him across the face. His spider sense had screamed at him to react, but there was nothing he could do. It was a hard blow, one so powerful that the pain of the strike itself was matched by the whiplash in Peter’s neck. He could taste blood in his mouth. Fisk had used the back of his hand and only a fraction of his strength, but it was still all Peter could do to keep from crying out in pain.

“I don’t care for your sense of humor,” said Fisk calmly.

Peter spat blood out onto the floor beside him. He glared up at Fisk, who noted the response carefully before beginning to pace as he spoke.

“You want to know why you’re alive,” he said, “why I haven’t killed you.”

Peter didn’t respond. It was true, but he didn’t want to give Fisk the satisfaction of admitting it.

“The man I was just speaking to,” continued Fisk, “Dmitri Smerdyakov. He’s Bratva. You know that, of course. You tried to break up his business.”

“You mean his chop shop.”

“A crude way of putting it,” nodded Fisk, “but yes. The Russians have controlled the underground auto market in Brooklyn for years. All business went through them.”

“Until you came along,” muttered Peter spitefully.

“Indeed,” smiled Fisk, “You see I saw an opportunity that the Russians didn’t. I saw the potential of a wider reaching market. So I sat down with them, spoke with them, and I got to know each of their leaders personally. I did them favors, offering my protection, giving up my territories, and even forgiving their debts. Years and years of carefully forging my relationship with them so that together we could expand their operation across the city and reap the joint profit.”

Fisk was now directly in front of Peter, his face full of loathing. His breathing has sped up and his fists had tightened. Suddenly, his entire demeanor became aggressive

“And you would have that time WASTED!” he roared, “Thrown away as if they meant NOTHING! Just like you did with the Gnucci family and the Romanians!”

Fisk continued to stare angrily at Peter, who just looked back up at him defiantly. Fisk closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and relaxed his shoulders. Peter couldn’t tell whether Fisk was composing himself or if he had exaggerated his angry reaction to intimidate Peter.

“This may surprise you,” he said calmly, leaning over close to Peter’s face, “but I am a hardworking man. I have worked tirelessly and meticulously to build my empire. I will _not_ tolerate some hooligan in a mask trying to tear it down on a whim. No, for that injustice I must do more than simply kill you. I have to tear down something _you_ love. I have to destroy something _you_ value. But to do that, I have to know who you are. I need your name.”

“I’m Spider-Man.”

Peter’s spider sense screamed out again, but he only had time to let out a brief gasp of shock before Fisk thrust his hands around his throat. One of his massive hands alone would have been enough to easily wrap around Peter’s neck. Together the two hands felt stronger than the steel cables. They were closing in tighter and tighter, carefully closing the air passageway without quite crushing Peter’s neck. Peter choked and coughed as breathing became harder and harder and then impossible. The crushing feeling in his throat became accompanied by a tightness in his chest and finally a light sensation in his head. Everything slowly began to grow dark for a moment as Peter felt his heartbeat pounding in the temples of his head. Then Fisk let go.

Peter inhaled deeply and coughed out the blood and spit he had choked on.

“ _Spider-Man…_ ” said Fisk with contempt, “That’s no identity. It’s just a title you claim to elevate yourself above others. It’s just a mask you put on to convince yourself and everyone else that you’re superior to us, but you’re _not_.”

Peter had finished coughing, though his throat still throbbed. He looked up at Fisk, wincing in pain.

“The Russians offered me their best interrogator to find out who you are,” said Fisk calmly, “The biker gangs offered help from an ex-FBI torture expert. I know a man who could flay the skin from your body and still leave you alive until you talked.”

Peter hardened his face. He wasn’t about to let Fisk intimidate him.

“But I wanted to handle this myself,” continued Fisk, “You see, when a man such as me is faced with a man such as yourself… That is to say, when a commander who has _earned_ his power is faced with an uneducated _upstart_ who thinks he knows better… It’s an opportunity to teach a necessary lesson.”

Peter’s spine shivered with another wave of spider sense, but again he was helpless to do anything. Fisk’s hand lunged into Peter’s face, muffling Peter’s nose and mouth as he let out a defiant “ _Mmph!_ ” Fisk’s fingers squeezed into the sides of Peter’s head with growing pressure. Peter trembled as he started to feel the strain on his skull. Fisk stared intensely down at Peter, eyes filled with hatred and conviction.

“Prepare yourself, boy. Because I am going to _break you_.”

***

“What about Gnuccis?” asked Jessica as she tossed aside comic after comic, “Or someone from one of the prison gangs?”

“I really don’t know,” sighed Mary Jane, opening drawer after drawer, “He usually spares me the details of the criminal activity. All I know for sure is that he had a lead on him.”

“But did he have a name?”

“I don’t know.”

Jessica and Mary Jane were searching Peter’s dorm, looking over his every notebook, every pocket of his clothes, and every corner of the room for information he might have on Kingpin. They had emptied out every drawer of clothing and Jessica had just finished checking the box of Captain America comics. She gave the bottom of the box a quizzical look before pulling out a CD case for a Florence and the Machine album. She held it up to Mary Jane.

“Aw,” smiled Mary Jane sadly, “He must have gotten that for me. Dog Days Are Over was my jam in middle school. I can’t believe he remembers.”

“Your birthday coming up or something?”

“Our one month anniversary is.”

“Yeah,” nodded Jessica, looking at the CD, “That’s the kind of thing he’d care about.”

Both Jessica and Mary Jane froze as they heard a knock on the door.

“Peter?” asked a voice from the other side, “Peter, are you there?”

“Shit,” whispered Jessica.

She recognized the voice. His name was Malcolm Ducasse, a guidance counselor for Empire State University. During Jessica’s last run in with him he had forced her to read the school’s drug policy under threat of charging her with trespassing*.

*As seen in [Spider-Man: Halloween is for Hookups](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21164174)

“Professor Connors said you weren’t in class for the exam today,” continued Malcolm from the hall, “That’s a big deal, Peter. Peter?”

Jessica and Mary Jane looked at one another in silent panic. They had gotten in by using the spare key Peter gave Mary Jane, but hadn’t locked it behind them. They stared nervously at Malcolm as he opened the door and took a step back at the sight of them.

“Jessica?” he asked, “What are you doing here? And who’s this?”

“I’m Mary Jane Watson,” she said, pulling out her student I.D., “Peter’s girlfriend.”

“Oh no,” realized Malcolm, “Is he alright?”

“He’s fine,” said Jessica sternly.

“That why you’re tearing apart his room?”

Neither Jessica nor Mary Jane had an answer for that. Malcolm sighed. He stepped in and closed the door behind him.

“Does this have something to do with…” asked Malcolm cautiously, “Peter’s other life?”

“What other life?” asked Mary Jane, a little too quickly.

“Peter and I talk every week,” explained Malcolm, “I know how little sleep he’s been getting, I’ve noticed the weird injuries, and I know that only so many lanky boys hang out with Jessica Jones.”

Jessica scowled at Malcolm. This was not helpful in their investigation and she didn’t have time to be playing with secrets right now. This conversation needed to be over as soon as possible. Every minute they spent talking was another minute Peter might not make it.

“I can help you,” insisted Malcolm, “I have some pull with the school board. But you have to tell me what’s going on.”

Jessica looked at Mary Jane, who seemed quite scared. She was looking back and forth between Jessica and Malcolm nervously. Jessica nodded to her in acceptance.

“Peter’s missing,” said Mary Jane, “We think he got into trouble in his… other life.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“What do you think?” asked Jessica impatiently, “The bad kind.”

“Did he tell you anything?” asked Malcolm.

“Did he tell _you_ anything?” asked Jessica.

“Maybe,” considered Malcolm, “He never talks about his other life, I doubt he even suspects I know, but the other day he was acting kind of strange.”

“Strange how?” asked Jessica.

“He wanted to know about ESU’s Veteran’s Day Ball,” said Malcolm, “He never cared about stuff like that before. What was weirder was that he seemed mostly interested in the event’s sponsors, rather than how he could attend or anything.”

“Peter never mentioned wanting to go to that,” said Mary Jane.

“That’s because he wasn’t planning on going,” concluded Jessica, “Who are the sponsors?”

“There’s only one this year,” said Malcolm, “Fisk Enterprises paid for the whole thing.”

***

Peter heard the sound of running water in the distance. He sniffled. The inside of his nose still reeked of blood. His head throbbed from the ache of having been struck so hard so many times. He could feel the inside of his cheeks were swollen. His vision was blurry, but he was still able to make out the shape of Fisk emerging from the bathroom scrubbing his knuckles with a hand towel.

“I suppose you’re proud,” boomed Fisk, not yelling but speaking loudly enough that Peter could hear him clearly from across the room, “You’ve made it this far without giving me your name and withstood a beating from a man many times your size. Congratulations, but surely you realize that this is only the beginning.”

“Well, shucks,” coughed Peter, “I guess I should have brought a magazine or something.”

Fisk scoffed. He was surprised the beaten boy had it in him to oppose him, considering what he had just been through. In fact, it surprised Peter too. He was weak, practically wheezing. His very skull throbbed in pain and the inside of his mouth was sticky with blood. He wasn’t ready to give up, though. He had been beaten before. He could take it.

Fisk walked across the room out of Peter’s field of vision. When he returned he had a cutting board, a kitchen knife, and a small pill bottle with him. He sat on the couch in front of Peter and placed the items on the table, carefully setting the items out.

“When I was first starting out as a businessman,” began Fisk, “I was but a humble dealer of spices. I came from a poor family and had to work excruciating hours just to survive. It was years of that before I was allowed even a small loan from any bank.”

As he spoke, Fisk began to take individual pills out of the bottle and place them on the cutting board. Once he had around a dozen of them laid out, he took the knife in one hand, gently rested his other on the dull edge, and placed the blade on top of one of the pills. One by one he sliced the medication open, spilling a fine green dust on the cutting board. He began using the knife to sweep the powder into a single pile.

“As you know, I eventually expanded my ventures to other enterprises,” continued Fisk, “I found every market had a unique benefit to offer. For instance, my investments in pharmaceuticals have taught me a great deal. Are you familiar with setcinzen?”

Peter didn’t respond. He continued to stare at the workshop Fisk had set up before him.

“It inhibits a number of symptoms common in patients with chronic migraines,” he explained, “but that’s not the trait that interests me.”

Fisk held his left hand out in front of his face and kissed the bridge between the base of his thumb and index finger. He then dabbed that part of his fist in the powder, slowly accumulating a large amount of it on his hand as it stuck to the saliva. He stood up and walked around the table to approach Peter.

“In its powdered state,” said Fisk, “large quantities of the drug have demonstrated a unique effect on humans with special abilities such as yourself.”

Another wave of spider sense rushed through Peter. Fisk’s right hand shot around his head and clasped onto the back of his hair. Peter held in a cry of pain as Fisk jerked his head back and strained his neck. The cry was silenced by Fisk smothering Peter’s mouth with his left hand, pressing the powder closer to Peter’s nose.

“Inhale,” ordered Fisk.

Peter refused. He held his breath as Fisk pushed his head forward into his hand. Peter’s legs began to tremble as his lungs ached. Peter couldn’t inhale through his mouth and if he inhaled through his nose he’d be snorting in the powder. Fisk kept pressing for another minute as Peter’s face turned red and his lungs hurt more and more.

“INHALE!” screamed Fisk.

Fisk pulled Peter’s head back and then shoved it back into his hand. The pain finally became too much as Peter desperately sucked in air through his nose, bringing the powder in with it. Fisk released Peter’s head as he snorted and coughed.

When Peter finally regained his breath his vision was blurry. In fact, everything looked like it had before he had gotten glasses. That wasn’t right. Since the spider had bitten him, he hadn’t needed the glasses. His vision had been perfect.

“I’m curious,” said Fisk calmly, walking around behind Peter, “Can you feel it? Your power slipping away from you?”

So that’s what was happening. Peter could indeed feel it. He was body was quickly losing strength. Breathing was suddenly harder. He no longer had the superhuman stamina that kept him from tiring out. He was back to being the weak, skinny boy he had been before.

Peter heard a loud metallic click behind him. Then he felt the bonds loosen.

“Stand,” ordered Fisk as he walked back over to the couch, removing his suit jacket and folding it neatly on the couch.

Peter pulled at the bonds. They loosened further. He pulled them off of him as he stood up from the chair and stepped away from it, facing Fisk. He was free to fight back now, but without his powers…

“I can be a merciful man,” said Fisk, removing his socks and shoes as well, “If you can defeat me, I’ll let you go. But you must face me with your own strength, like a man! No unnatural abilities or tricks. Just your strength against mine.”

By now Fisk had removed his shirt as well, leaving him in only his black pants and white sleeveless undershirt. Peter could now see the full scale of Fisk’s build. He was fat, yes, but Peter could now see that that fat rested on top of unmistakable muscle. When Fisk flexed his arms the fat almost seemed to disappear as the bulging veins of his muscles appeared. He was many times Peter’s size and Peter had no way to defend against him.

“Are you ready, boy?” asked Fisk.

Peter nodded. He had to fight. He couldn’t just let Fisk win. If he did, Fisk would continue to hurt others. No matter how bad his chances, Peter had to give this his best shot. He had to at least try. He brought his fists up as he readied his fighting stance.

“Good,” smiled Fisk.

Peter threw the first punch. He aimed it right at Fisk’s gut directly in front of him. He wasn’t expecting to accomplish much, but he had put all his strength into it. Peter cried out in pain; he felt as if he had punched a cement wall. He grabbed his wrist as Fisk chuckled. Then he brought his own hand up and used the back of it to strike Peter across the face, knocking him to the ground in the process.

“I have spent years honing my body,” Fisk said quietly, strolling around the weakened Peter, “Carefully choosing my training techniques, curating my diet. Many mistake my size for poor health, but I assure you it is very intentional.”

Peter cried out as he felt a powerful impact on his stomach. Fisk had kicked him. Peter’s gut throbbed as the wind was knocked out of him and he skidded across the floor of the room, colliding with a wall on the other side. Peter coughed as he tried to get back to his feet, but his arms were so trembling and weak that he could barely even lift his face from the ground.

“You see, my strength comes from years and years of careful planning,” continued Fisk, “I’ve perfected my body. I’ve built an empire! Where does your strength come from!?”

Peter gripped the wall as he managed to slowly bring himself to his knees, still gasping for air and trying to keep himself up. He couldn’t see Fisk at this point. His poor vision was exacerbated by a throbbing headache brought on from the beating. He could hear Fisk’s voice approaching closer, though.

“Some sort of unnatural phenomenon!” shouted Fisk, close enough that Peter could feel his footsteps in the floor, “I suppose you think yourself special or gifted because of your powers. But look what you become once it’s stripped away!!”

Peter gasped as he felt his shirt tighten and pull him up and into the air. He could see the outline of Fisk holding him up now, gripping the front of his costume with both hands. Peter could hear him breathing heavily and feel the warm breath, but he couldn’t see the look of anger on Fisk’s face. He could only hear it in his voice.

“You are NOTHING!” screamed Fisk, tearing the shirt in either direction, “You don’t deserve the power you wield! You’ve done nothing to earn it!”

Peter fell to the ground with a thud as the upper half of his costume was ripped away off of him. He tried to crawl back up to his feet, but he was interrupted by Fisk grabbing his leg. Peter held back a whimper as he felt the sudden coldness on his legs as Fisk ripped away his pants and underwear as well. Peter shuddered and curled inward as he lay on the floor, stripped of his powers, stripped of his suit, and stripped of everything that had made him special. He was as weak and helpless as he had been before becoming Spider-Man.

Peter could hear Fisk’s angry panting slowly shift into a chuckle. Peter steeled himself. He couldn’t give in now.

“Joke’s on you,” uttered Peter, half smiling as he rose to his hands and knees, “I’ve had an entire lifetime of feeling like I was nothing. This is just another day in the life for me.”

Peter heard Fisk inhale deeply. Did that work? Had he given Fisk pause? Or was Fisk just angry? Peter got his answer when he felt his hair tightly grabbed and pulled straight upward. Peter let out a cry of pain as he gripped onto Fisk’s wrist. Fisk lifted Peter high off the ground, leaving the naked boy dangling and gripping onto Fisk’s hand for dear life. Peter had never felt so exposed and powerless.

“You’re not funny,” said Fisk quietly.

Peter cried out as Fisk swung and threw him across the room. He hit the floor with another hard thud and slid into one of the room’s marble posts. Peter groaned as the impact pained his back. He gripped onto the post and used it to pull himself off the floor again, sitting and leaning against it. He wanted to get up all the way, to stand against Fisk. He didn’t know if he could anymore.

Peter was still trying to get all the way to his feet when he saw the outline of Fisk draw close enough for him to see. The large man then clasped both of his fists together, raised them up over his head, and brought them down on top of Peter’s head.

For a moment Peter could neither see nor hear. His vision went grey when he felt the blow come down on top of his head. He had barely processed the pain before his head hit the floor even harder, sending an unbearable pain through Peter’s head and creating a ringing that filled his ears. He grasped at the floor for some sense of reality, but quickly felt his shoulder grabbed by Fisk and pinned to the post, sitting against it.

Peter’s vision went from grey to blurry, but Fisk’s face was now inches from his own. He could make out his expression and features now. He wasn’t as angry as Peter had thought, at least not visibly. In fact, he had a somewhat satisfied look on his face. Peter realized why when Fisk reached into his pocket and pulled out Spider-Man’s mask.

“I think the reason you wear a mask,” said Fisk looking from Peter to the mask, “is because you’re ashamed. You don’t have the strength to face your enemies like a man. Instead you hide behind a fake identity and take what you want!”

“Maybe you’re right,” managed Peter weakly, “Maybe I should start going by ‘Kingpin’ instead and hide from everyone in a fancy penthouse. That would make me a real man.”

Fisk’s faced hardened. Peter had gotten to him. Without another word, Fisk angrily shoved the mask into Peter’s face, pressing the cloth into Peter’s mouth with his thumbs. Peter choked and tried to push the fabric back out, but Fisk pressed it in harder until Peter’s mouth was completely filled.

“Rnnngh...:” moaned Peter weakly.

Fisk then reached down and undid his belt, sliding it out of his pants. Peter was tired and in excruciating pain. He slowly reached his trembling hands up to pull the mask from his mouth, but before he could, Fisk had pressed the belt into Peter’s face, pressing it over Peter’s mouth and trapping the mask in. Fisk then kept pushing Peter’s head into the post behind him, fastening the belt tightly around the other side. Peter tried to move, but his head was completely bound to the post by the belt through his fabric-filled mouth. Fisk smiled in satisfaction.

“Mmr-nrfmph!” grunted Peter angrily.

Peter blushed and looked away when he heard how ridiculous he sounded. Fisk chuckled at the sound himself. Peter glared up at him, naked arms and legs lying motionlessly at his side. His whole body stung with pain and exhaustion. The fight was over. He had lost. Fisk had won.

“I’m sure you’re too weak to try to escape now,” said Fisk as he walked over to a nearby cabinet, “but just to be sure…”

Fisk returned with a sizable amount of rope. He didn’t need the steel cable this time. Even if Peter had his super strength, he was completely out of the drive to use it. He was beaten. So he sat helplessly as Fisk further secured him to the post by tying his elbows together behind it. To further fasten him, he also tied Peter’s wrists together in front of him. The strain of these two ties pulling his arms together in front and toward the back at the same time strained his arms. The tight rope was already causing a burning feeling.

“Now,” said Fisk calmly, admiring his work, “You stay there and consider what I’ve said. Whenever I allow myself to release all of my anger, I like to follow it up with a long soak in a steaming hot bath. I will return when I’m done.”

Peter watched as Fisks’ hulking body faded from his vision as he walked farther away. Peter let out the smallest exhalation of relief from his nose. Though Fisk had left him alone, the rope was still rubbing his skin raw and the sides of his mouth was starting to sting from pressure of the belt. He began to wonder if he’d ever escape.

***

The shutters on Jessica’s camera clicked rapidly as she held down the button and let the lens auto capture numerous photographs in a row. She looked down at the screen to see the photos she had gotten with it. The faces of the men she had photographed were clear in the photos. Good. That way she could identify them later if she needed to. She had no idea who they were at the moment.

“So it’s Fisk, right?” asked Mary Jane

“We don’t know that,” said Jessica.

“But it has to be!”

“Keep your voice down.”

Jessica and Mary Jane were sitting at a coffee shop across from the Fisk Art Gallery, where ESU’s Veteran’s Day Ball was to be held. They were at a table with their coffee in front of them as Jessica occasionally snapped pictures through the window of individuals who entered and left the gallery. It was sundown by now and only a few people had come and gone from the gallery since they arrived.

“Why else would Peter ask about him?” asked Mary Jane.

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” said Jessica, “Being too rash might have been what got your boyfriend into trouble in the first place.”

“And every second we spend here is another second he’s in danger!”

“You think I don’t know that!?” demanded Jessica angrily.

Mary Jane nodded and quietly looked at her coffee. She knew Jessica was right. This was Jessica’s area of expertise and Mary Jane was out of her element. It didn’t stop her from worrying, though. Jessica could see that much on her face.

“Listen, Red...” said Jessica hesitantly, “We’re in really deep now. There’s nothing wrong with you backing out.”

“No.”

“Things are going to get dangerous,” said Jessica, “Real dangerous. You have no way of defending yourself.”

“I’ll improvise.”

“Improvise?” scoffed Jessica, almost laughing, “You gonna perform a monologue for him, Red?”

“I’m serious,” insisted Mary Jane, “I don’t care what it takes. I’ll do whatever I have to.”

Jessica nodded. She had no idea whether to believe that or not. She’d seen dozens of clients say the same thing. When things got heated, anyone could turn scared and run. Good, evil, stable, unstable, none of that seemed to matter. Sometimes the moment just got to you. Sooner or later they’d find out how Mary Jane would handle that.

Jessica did a double take outside. Someone had just walked around from the other side of the art gallery. It was one of the men she had photographed going in earlier. How had he gotten out without her seeing him leave?

“Shit,” realized Jessica, “There’s another entrance on the other side, isn’t there?”

“I don’t know.”

“Fuck,” muttered Jessica, checking her phone, “There totally is. Damn it! How the hell would Peter have watched both- Wait a minute.”

Jessica suddenly sat up straight. Mary Jane followed suit, confused. Jessica rushed out of the coffee shop and crossed the street. Mary Jane rushed to keep up with her. Jessica stood halfway between the two entrances and looked up and across the street.

“Bingo.”

“What?”

“Look.”

Mary Jane looked up and saw what Jessica was referring to. High above them on the side of the building, a camera was suspended between two windows. It was stuck to the side of the building with webbing, just out of the sightlines of the windows.

“That’s Peter’s!” realized Mary Jane.

“Yup,” confirmed Jessica, “Give me your shoe.”

“What?”

“Give me your shoe.”

“Can’t you use your own shoe?”

“Just give it!”

Mary Jane complied. She untied one of her boots and handed it to Jessica. Jessica got a feel for the weight of it and then eyed the camera closely.

“You’re not going to…” began Mary Jane worriedly.

“His webbing dissolves over time, right?” said Jessica, “So it should be pretty easy to knock the camera down if I just…”

Jessica pitched the shoe straight upward. She didn’t have great aim, but she did make up for it with her strength. The first attempt got the boot in the vague vicinity of the camera. The second missed entirely. The third attempt, by which point Jessica was being watched by just about everyone on the street, the boot collided with the camera and separated it from the webbing. Jessica readied herself and clasped onto the camera as it fell to her level.

“Whoa,” whispered someone.

“What’s going on there?” asked another.

“Mind your own damn business,” dismissed Jessica, giving the onlookers a glare. That was enough to get them to back off.

Jessica began clicking through the photos on the camera. It reminded her a lot of the Oscorp pictures Peter had taken a few months back. He had a knack for photography and his powers let him get just about every angle imaginable. As a photographer herself, part of Jessica was jealous.

The photos weren’t just of those who came and went to the gallery like Jessica’s were, although those were there too. Numerous pictures were taken through windows of individuals inside the gallery. Wilson Fisk himself was in many of them. This alone didn’t mean much; he owned the gallery. What was damning however, were the individuals he was speaking to. Dmitri Smerdyakov from the Bratva, members of the Harlem Syndicate, and other known crime lords. It wasn’t proof enough to hold up in court, but it was all that Jessica needed to see.

“What is it?” asked Mary Jane, trying to see the pictures over Jessica’s shoulder.

“You were right, Red,” said Jessica, “Time to make a trip to Fisk Enterprises.”

***

Peter heard a door open on the far side of the room.

 _How much time has passed?_ he asked himself, _Was I sleeping?_

The lighting may have been dimmer. It was hard to tell. He had never felt so exhausted in all his life. He could feel his face swelling from the beating Fisk had given him, which only caused the tight hold of the belt across his mouth to hurt even more. His arms had gone numb from loss of circulation and his head still hurt like hell.

Peter’s vision was returning to him. He saw Fisk walk into his field of vision wearing a fine crimson robe with gold accents. He watched as Fisk walked by him without a hint of acknowledgement. Peter let out a “Hrnn!”to get his attention, as it was all he could manage with the mask in his mouth. Still, Fisk ignored him.

When Fisk returned again he brought with him a rack of clothing, which he wheeled along with him and set up in front of Peter. Over a dozen suits hung on the rack, ranging in color from black to grey to cream. Each was contained in a clear, vacuum sealed bag closed around the hanger itself. Fisk placed a hand on one and considered it, then he did the same with another.

Peter watched helplessly as Fisk, continuing to act as though Peter wasn’t there, unzipped one of the bags. The plastic fell to the floor, giving Peter a good look at the suit in question. It was a white three-piece suit.

Peter’s eyes widened as Fisk rolled his shoulders back and let his robe fall to the floor. Peter’s head was fixed in place by the belt, and though he could have closed his eyes he wouldn’t dare deprive himself of sight again. So instead he watched uncomfortably as Fisk displayed his entire body. Seeing his whole body clearly, Peter saw that when Fisk moved, the fat on his body clung tightly to his muscles. His skin was smooth, free of any marks or blemishes. His cock hung low and Fisk made no attempt to cover or obscure it. Peter couldn’t help but feel insecure when he saw it and remembered that he was just as exposed, but less endowed.

Fisk opened a garment bag on the rack and pulled out a pair of black boxers and a white sleeveless undershirt. He casually put both on before finding a black collared shirt on the rack, pulling it on, and slowly buttoning it.

Next Fisk pulled on the suit’s white pants, careful to minimize the cloth’s contact with the floor as he did so. He tucked in his shirt and fastened the pants with a black leather belt just below his stomach. He added on top of that a white vest and matching jacket.

He pulled a dark red necktie out of the garment bag. He tied it around his neck and tucked it into the collar of the vest. He plucked a matching red kerchief from the garment bag, folded it, and placed it in the breast pocket of his jacket.

Fisk pulled on a pair of black silk socks and stepped into two finely shined shoes sitting at the bottom of the rack. He completed the outfit with a pair of ruby cufflinks. Fully dressed, he turned to finally address Peter and his fully exposed body. Peter’s knees curled inward in shame.

Fisk approached Peter without speaking. He squatted down to be closer to Peter’s level, gripped the boy’s bound wrists, and jerked upward. Peter clenched his eyes shut and let out an “Ermph!” through his stuffed mouth as the skin on his back rubbed painfully against the marble post. He was still tightly bound to the post by his elbows and his wrists were still tied, so the standing was a slow and painful process. Once Peter was up, his feet managed to find the floor and keep him up.

Fisk looked Peter up and down, but seemed disinterested. He reached both hands behind Peter’s head and unfastened the belt, letting it fall to the floor. Peter opened his aching jaw and pushed the mask out with his tongue, watching the soaked rag that used to be his iconic image fall to the floor. Peter licked his dry lips, but even his tongue was bone dry. The fabric of the mask had soaked up all the moisture in his mouth.

“I suppose you must be thirsty,” said Fisk, eyeing the mask on the floor, “Perhaps if you ask my permission, I will allow you some water.”

Peter nodded. Fisk stared back without a reaction. Peter looked up desperately at him. He wasn’t going to give him the water unless he explicitly asked. He wanted Peter to give him that level of control. Peter didn’t want to do it, but he had never been so thirsty in his life. He hadn’t had any water since he woke up in this penthouse.

“I would like some water,” whispered Peter, fighting past the shame as he looked at Fisk, “May I please have some?”

Fisk nodded quietly and walked away. Peter watched him enter the kitchen on the far side of the penthouse. He heard the sound of the faucet and running water. Fisk returned with a clear glass of water, slowly approaching Peter with it. Peter looked down at his bound wrists and then back at Fisk. With his elbows still bound behind the post, Peter wouldn’t be able to raise the glass to his lips. It seemed Fisk understood that and proceeded to bring to glass there himself instead.

Peter wrapped his lips around the rim of the glass as Fisk tilted it into his mouth. The cold, refreshing drink quickly filled his mouth and eased the pain in his throat. Peter ravenously sucked at the glass, trying to get every drop of water down he could. In his haste, he drank too quickly and coughed. Water mixed with spit sprayed out all over Peter’s chest and dribbled down his chin. Fisk pulled his arm back in disgust. He flicked his wrist, trying to get the water off the sleeve of his suit. Then he looked up at Peter, furious.

“Repulsive!” he yelled, “You pitiful welp. You drink like an animal! If you cannot behave in a civilized manner I will cease providing you these luxuries!”

Fisk walked away with the glass, placing it on a table and pulling out his handkerchief to dab at the wet marks on his suit. Peter was thankful he had gotten enough water to partially satiate his thirst before that had happened.

“Of course,” said Fisk, calming himself, “If you tell me who you are, I can be swayed. I could even offer you warm clothes and a bed.”

“My name?”

“Yes,” nodded Fisk, “Your identity. Who you are.”

“My name,” said Peter weakly, “is Spider-Man.”

“I see,” said Fisk after a moment, “So you still haven’t learned.”

Fisk left the room again. When he returned he was carrying a small rectangular box in his hands. He walked up to Peter and looked him in the eye.

“Last week you broke into one of the Gnucci gambling houses,” he said calmly, “You made quite a scene. Such a scene, in fact, that the police considered it probable cause to enter. Much of Gnucci family was present. They were all arrested. Do you remember this?”

Peter just stared back, but Fisk didn’t seem to care whether he answered.

“Isabella was among those arrested,” he continued, “Isabella Gnucci is not only the head of her family, but a close and personal friend of mine. I often visit her family’s ranch upstate. Isabella rides horses, you see, which is why I was planning to give her this for her birthday.”

Fisk opened the small box. Peter could now see that inside was a black rubber horse bit rested atop its neatly folded reins. Fisk removed the bit and reigns and tossed the box aside.

“Tell me again,” whispered Fisk as he walked around behind Peter and the post, “Who are you?”

“Spider-Man,” grunted Peter.

“For a well trained horse,” said Fisk loudly from behind, “one must only tug lightly on the reigns and bit to direct them where to go. For a disobedient horse, however, a more aggressive approach is necessary. With that in mind, I ask you again: who are you?”

“Spider-MaARGK!”

Fisk had swiftly put the bit in front of Peter’s mouth and pulled back tightly on the reins. Peter moaned in pain as the bit pressed into his lips and jaw, forcing its way between his teeth and straining his lips. He felt Fisk tighten the pull, tying the reigns to bind Peter to the post like he had with the belt.

“Even a wild beast can be tamed with patience,” said Fisk calmly as he walked away, “You are no exception.”

Peter waited nervously as he heard Fisk rummaging around furniture in the distance. When Peter saw him again minutes later he was wheeling over a floor length mirror. He brought it up in front of Peter. The boy winced as he saw himself in it, naked and bound to the post.

He saw Fisk walk into the reflection as well, standing behind Peter and the post. Peter felt an intense loss of pride and self-respect at seeing his state compared to Fisk, who looked confident and comfortable in his sharp suit. Peter, on the other hand, was starting to drool. He was unable to keep the saliva in with the pressure of the gag.

“It’s quite a sight,” noted Fisk, almost smiling, “I’ll let you bask in it a while longer.”

Fisk walked off, leaving Peter to stare at his pathetic image in the mirror. Part of him wanted to weep, to let out all of the pain and misery he was feeling. But he held it back. No matter how badly Fisk ruined him, he wouldn’t let Fisk break him.

***

“What’s this guy’s name?” asked Mary Jane.

“Walter Declun,” said Jessica, “VP of Business Operations. If anyone knows where to find Fisk, it’s him.”

“Then his parking spot is probably here.”

“I know.”

Jessica and Mary Jane were hiding behind a large column in the underground parking garage of Fisk Enterprises. They were watching the VIP parking spots closely, waiting for someone to approach the cars. Their wait was over when they saw a fast-moving man with slicked back hair get off the elevator nearby. He walked up to a black luxury car in one of the VIP spaces. Jessica recognized him from the Fisk Enterprises website. It was Declun.

Declun unlocked his black luxury car and took his seat behind the wheel. He placed his briefcase on the seat next to him and started the ignition. He had just placed his hands on the wheel when he looked up and saw Jessica Jones standing directly in front of the car.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said Jessica, “Where’s Fisk?”

“I’m sorry,” said Declun, “Who are you?”

“Jessica Jones.”

“And what business do you have with Mr. Fisk?”

“The Kingpin kind.”

Jessica saw Declun’s eyes widen in panic as he shifted his car into drive and slammed his foot on the gas pedal. Jessica preempted him by stomping onto the front bumper of the car. The wheels screeched as they spun in place, unable to propel the car enough to push past Jessica’s strength. Jessica herself was struggling to keep the car there, but hid her concern in hopes that Declun would give up on the attempt. She grunted as she felt herself begin to slide back as the car began to inch forward. Declun felt this too and leaned forward as he continued his attempt to run Jessica over.

That’s when Mary Jane ran up to the driver side of the car, opened the door, grabbed Declun, and pulled him out of the car and onto the floor of the parking garage. Jessica let out a sigh of relief as the car stopped, looking over at Mary Jane.

“Nice one, Red.”

“I don’t know anything!” pled Declun, “I swear!”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t have tried to run me over,” said Jessica, placing her boot on his chest, “Sot tell us: where’s Fisk?”

“I really don’t know!” insisted Declun, “He doesn’t trust his legitimate business partners with that information!”

“Where does he keep his prisoners?” demanded Mary Jane.

Declun and Jessica both looked at Mary Jane. Jessica wouldn’t have tipped their hand so early.

“You’re looking for Spider-Man,” realized Declun.

“Maybe,” said Jessica, stepping down harder on his chest, “If we were, would you be able to help us?”

“The Russians got him!” coughed Declun, struggling under Jessica’s strength, “Fisk put a hit out on him and they were the ones who got to him!”

“Bratva,” said Jessica, lifting her foot off of Declun, “Shit.”

“Bratva?” asked Mary Jane.

“Russian mob,” said Jessica, “They run the biggest auto theft ring in the city.”

“Do you know how to find them?”

“Their chop shop is based out of south Brooklyn.”

“It could take us hours to get there!”

“Hey asshole,” said Jessica to Declun, “We’re going to have to borrow your fancy car.”

***

Peter opened his eyes, seeing his reflection again. He still hadn’t gotten used to the sight, but he had nowhere else to look. All he could do was stare at his own bound, naked, gagged, and drooling self.

The sound of opera echoed throughout the penthouse. Shortly after Fisk had left Peter with the mirror, he had turned on the music. It wasn’t deafeningly loud, but in the otherwise silent penthouse it seemed to pound against his ears relentlessly. He couldn’t hear anything else, which meant he wouldn’t hear Fisk approaching.

He knew Fisk wasn’t nearby though. In fact, he knew exactly where Fisk was. The smell of spices, herbs, lemon, and fish filled the penthouse. Fisk was cooking in the kitchen on the far side of the room. Peter couldn’t see or hear him, but the smell was strong and distinct.

Finally the music stopped. Peter heard the footsteps of Fisk approaching. The massive man walked into his field of vision carrying a small ebony table and matching chair. He moved the mirror placed the table and chair in front of Peter. Then he carefully adjusted their positions. He left and returned with a set of utensils wrapped in a napkin and a plate of food. Fisk placed it down and Peter saw that it was an attentively prepared tuna steak with roasted vegetables.

Peter spent so long staring at the meal that he didn’t notice Fisk leave and return again with a bottle of white wine and a wine glass. He sat at the table, placed the napkin on his lap, and began to cut himself bites of the tuna. He would took breaks from his food to drink the wine, taking the time to savor every bite and sip. Peter shuddered as he felt the cold sensation of his drool dripping down to his chest.

Fisk continued to eat, not making eye contact with Peter. It seemed to take upwards of an hour, but Peter’s sense of time was shaky. He did know that he was suddenly extremely hungry. All he wanted was to bite into that food, but he could barely even move any part of his body. When Fisk had eaten most of the fish he suddenly put his utensils down. He stood up and walked behind Peter. Peter flinched as he felt the bit tighten for a moment before it rolled out of his mouth and fell to the floor.

“You must be hungry,” said Fisk.

Peter looked up nervously as Fisk rounded back and stood in front of him. He couldn’t think of anything to say in response. He was too tired and too weak.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, boy,” said Fisk, looking Peter’s body up and down, “I had always thought your webbing was part of your unnatural abilities. Imagine my surprise when I learn they are weapons; devices of your own creation, even.”

Peter still couldn’t think of a response. What was Fisk talking about? What was his game now?

“That is a feat worthy of praise,” said Fisk plainly, “I acknowledge that you are not without skill. You have talent.”

Peter didn’t know what to think at this point. Why was Fisk praising him? Had he earned praise from this man? How?

“I will allow you to eat,” said Fisk, taking his plate and placing it on the floor near Peter, “You have earned that much. But first, you do have to ask.”

“May...” began Peter with difficulty, “May I eat?”

Fisk smiled. He walked behind the post again. Peter felt the burning of the rope around his elbows tightening before they fell to the floor with the bit. He slowly lifted his trembling arms from the post seeing the deep purple marks the binding had left him.

He fell to his knees, his wrists still tied in front of him. He nearly fell face first into the floor, but managed to catch himself just in time. He crawled his way to the plate and ate. He ate everything left on the plate. When he was finished he saw that Fisk was standing beside him with a glass of water in his hand. Peter hadn’t even noticed him leave to get it. Fisk held it out.

“Carefully this time,” he instructed sternly.

Peter managed himself up and to his feet and placed his lips on the glass as Fisk poured it into his mouth. He managed to finish the glass without spilling or drooling. Peter let out a shaky breath. He was starting to feel a little better. There was still something else, though. Something that was causing him a great deal of pain.

Peter didn’t know how long he had been in this penthouse, but he had not been given a chance to go to the bathroom the whole time. He had held it in up until now, but now not only was his bladder aching but his gut above the bladder ached too.

“You’re going to have to ask.”

“What?” asked Peter.

“I know what you need,” said Fisk, “and you’re going to have to ask.”

“May…” said Peter, pushing his pride and shame to the back of his mind, “May I go to the bathroom?”

“Beg,” ordered Fisk, staring Peter down.

“Please,” said Peter, holding back a sob, “Mr. Fisk, may I go to the bathroom?”

“You may,” said Fisk, gesturing vaguely to one end of the penthouse.

Peter walked disjointedly in that direction until he saw an open door to a white tiled room. He found himself running straight to the toilet inside. He sat down and quickly relieved himself. He let out a long sigh as the tension faded from his body.

Then, finally out of Fisk’s sight, Peter’s arms began to tremble. He suddenly became short on breath. He could hear himself quietly whimpering with each exhalation. He wanted this to stop. He wanted it to stop so badly. Fisk had started treating him better, though. Maybe if he listened to him...

 _No,_ thought Peter, _I can’t let him break me. I have to outlast him somehow. Somehow…_

Peter clenched his eyes shut as they began to tear up. What if this was it?

***

Jessica pressed her ear up against the metal door. Not hearing anything, she rammed the door with her shoulder and felt the lock snap as the door opened. She cautiously rounded the corner, looking around as she went.

This was the chop shop. Spider-Man had shut them down before, but they always popped back up shortly afterward. The Bratva maintained control no matter what, so taking them out had become a short term solution. Jessica thought Peter had figured that out by now, but something must have brought him back to the Bratva.

A man exclaimed in Russian as Jessica came face to face with him. Jessica knocked his head into the pipe beside them, leaving him groaning in pain on the ground as Jessica continued her march. She opened a door and two men were quickly walking up to her and drawing weapons. She leapt at one and knocked him away with a punch and then spun around and tackled the second one, knocking him out with a punch once they were both on the ground.

“Shit,” realized Jessica, looking up to see that she was in the manufacturing room.

Chains and hooks hung from the ceiling in a room big enough to be an airline hangar. A grid of catwalks hung about halfway up, where several large platforms held frames and engines from different cars. On the ground floor workbenches lined the walls, sparks flying off of them as buzzsaws sliced through pieces of automobiles. Several of the men working on the cars had noticed Jessica and turned to face her.

Jessica dove behind one of the workbenches as she saw one of them draw a gun. She heard guns fire and bullets ricochet. She placed both hands on the workbench and shoved. The enormous metal box slid along the ground as Jessica put all of her strength into the effort, working her way up to a run. She began to bulldoze over several of the gang members before one of them got behind her. She had to dive for cover again as he fired at her.

Now she was near the garage door entrance to the building, behind a discarded engine. She peered back to see over the engine. She counted nearly a dozen Bratva facing her now, all angry and many of them pointing guns at her. She slowly raised her hands. She heard a man and a woman speaking to each other in Russian as they approached her. The man was thin and had a spiral tattoo on his hand. The woman was of muscular build.

“Jessica Jones,” said the man in a light Russian accent, “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I’m warning you,” said Jessica, “I have backup on the way. You’re better off surrendering now.”

The man and woman whispered to one another quickly, before shouting something to the others. Many of them began to laugh.

“Nice try,” said the man, “Do you know who I am?”

“Dmitri Smerdyakov,” said Jessica, “or however the hell you pronounce it.”

“You do know me.”

“Where’s Spider-Man?”

Smerdyakov whispered something in Russian to the woman, who shouted it to the men behind them. They all laughed again.

“There is no price on your head,” smiled Smerdyakov, “So unlike him, there’s no reason to keep you alive.”

There was a distant sound. Some sort of music. Everyone looked around, confused. Several gave Jessica a suspicious look. Others whispered to each other in Russian, shrugging. Then the lyrics of the music started to become clear.

“ _The dog days are over… The dog days are done…_ ”

“One more thing,” added Jessica, “That back up I mentioned? This song was her jam in middle school.”

Jessica dove away from the garage door. The music was joined by a roaring engine as the garage door shredded to pieces, sheets of metal flying everywhere. A black luxury car plowed through with Mary Jane at the wheel, shrieking at the top of her lungs. The chorus of the song blasted on the car’s stereo.

“ _ **Run fast for your mother! Run fast for your father!**_ ” it blasted, sending the gang members scattering.

The car sped past everyone as they slowly got to their feet. Jessica leapt on one and struck him in the back of the head, then she grabbed another and threw him into the third. The muscular woman from before swing a pipe at Jessica. She caught it in the air and wrestled it from her grasp.

The car skidded into the wall at the end of the room. The impact burst out the airbags, cutting the music as Mary Jane gasped in shock. The car was now an easy target. One of the men drew a gun and fired it in the direction of the car. Mary Jane screamed and dove down as the windows shattered. Jessica knocked the muscular woman down with the pipe and then threw it into the gunman, taking him out.

A few of the Russians were still kicking. They were back up now, angrily turning to Jessica and grabbing their weapons off the ground. Jessica dove back behind the engine again as several of them fired. Jessica steadied herself. Her odds weren’t great against that many guns, but she had little choice. She leapt out from her cover and ran at them.

That’s when Jessica heard the engine roaring again. She gasped as the car sped through most of the gang members, blowing them aside or knocking them to the ground. It kept going right up to Jessica. Mary Jane slammed on the brakes and as the car continued to careen forward with a deafening screech. Jessica slammed both of her hands down on the car while bracing herself. She gritted her teeth as her joints flared up from the impact. The car slowed as it pushed Jessica several feet, but as she dug her heels in her strength ultimately slowed it to a halt before it pushed her into the wall.

Jessica let out a sigh of relief. She shot Mary Jane an annoyed look. The still terrified redhead could only offer a shrug. That’s when Jessica saw several of the gang members behind the car get up.

“Back!” shouted Jessica, “GO BACK!”

She watched Mary Jane fumble with the lever and wheel for a moment before the car sped backwards, knocking the few who had gotten back up back to the ground. That was the last of them.

Jessica looked around. None of the men lying on the floor were Smerdyakov. Jessica heard a clanging over her head. She looked up and saw Smerdyakov sprinting down the catwalk at full speed. Jessica leapt up and onto the catwalk, cutting him off. He panicked as he came face to face with her. He went to draw a gun, but Jessica moved too fast and disarmed him, tossing the gun aside. She shoved him to the floor of the catwalk and stepped onto his chest, pressing down.

“How did a loser like you manage to take down Spider-Man?” she asked.

“I won’t tell you anything!” hissed Smerdyakov, “You’ll never find him!”

Jessica was out of patience. She lifted her foot from his chest brought it back and swung it into his armpit at full strength. Smerdyakov screamed as Jessica heard the snapping of bones. He continued to scream as Jessica hovered her foot just above where she had just kicked, ready to stomp down. Smerdyakov stared angrily at that foot.

“Try that again,” she said.

Smerdyakov looked at Jessica for a moment longer. She began to lower her foot.

“Okay!” shouted Smerdyakov, “Okay! He’s being kept in the Hotel Cheshire penthouse.”

Jessica stepped back as Smerdyakov continued to writhe in pain. She heard the distant sound of sirens. Mary Jane climbed up the ladder onto the catwalk and rushed up to Jessica’s side.

“Did you see that!?” she cried, “Holy crap, I didn’t kill any of them, did I?”

“Not that I can tell,” said Jessica, surveying the room and injured and groaning Russians.

“That was nuts!” Mary Jane continued, “I can’t believe I did that! I can’t believe I’m alive! Jessica? Jessica, what is it? Did you find out where he is?”

Jessica was staring blankly ahead, thinking. She closed her eyes and grounded herself, turning back to Mary Jane.

“The police are here,” said Jessica, “I sent them an anonymous tip. Don’t worry, I told them you’re working with me.”

“Why does that have to do with-?”

“Sorry about this, Red.”

Jessica grabbed one of the chains hanging alongside the catwalk. She grabbed Mary Jane’s shoulder with her other hand and spun her away. Mary Jane had barely enough time to let out a confused noise before Jessica hooked the chain to the straps of her overalls and shoved her off the catwalk.

“Hey!” shouted Mary Jane, grunting in pain as the crotch of her overalls caught her fall, “Jessica!”

Mary Jane dangled there helplessly, kicking her legs and shouting to Jessica. But Jessica had already started running. She needed to get to that penthouse now. Smerdyakov had said they captured Peter alive. That meant Fisk had personal plans for him. Jessica had no idea what she was going to find in that penthouse. Worst case scenario… She didn’t want Mary Jane to see that.

***

Peter took a deep breath and steadied himself as he prepared to walk out of the bathroom. He was tired, weak, naked, and terrified for his life. Fisk had let him go to the bathroom though, so there was that. Maybe he could make it through this if he pushed a little harder.

“Come,” said Fisk gently as Peter exited the bathroom, “Have a seat.”

Fisk gingerly placed his massive hand on Peter’s back and guided him forward. Peter walked without thinking, following Fisk’s lead. He brought him to the steel armchair he had first woken up on. Fisk gently sat Peter down and untied his wrists. Fisk slowly circled the chair, hands behind his back, examining Peter.

“I have been very good to you, all things considered” Fisk said, “I’ve let you into my home, given you food and water, and allowed you to relieve yourself with dignity.”

Peter was confused. His mind was still hazy. Was Fisk right? The day had gotten much easier once Fisk had started letting him do those things. Maybe this would be alright. Maybe there was a way out of this. Maybe Fisk would continue treating him well if he behaved.

“Now,” continued Fisk, facing Peter directly, “all I ask in return is your name.”

 _No,_ realized Peter, _He’ll never treat me well! I can’t let him win! I won’t give him my name. I won’t let him get to the ones I love!_

“No,” whispered Peter.

Fisk let out a roar as he backhanded Peter across the face again. Peter cried out in pain as he his head whipped to the side. His face had long since gone numb, but his jaw and neck still stung badly from the impact. Peter was still reeling from the blow when he felt steel cables tighten around his wrists. He saw Fisk reapplying the cables from earlier. Peter wanted to fight back, to stop him, but his body was in so much pain. He could barely bring himself to move, let alone fight.

So instead he watched as Fisk once again bound his ankles to the legs of the chair, across his chest, and finished by adding another cable across his mouth and in his teeth to bind his head to the back of the chair, pulling it back and down slightly in the process. Peter’s eyes followed Fisk, his head unable to turn from the pressure of the cable pressing into his lips and jaw.

“I tried giving you a chance for a quick death,” sighed Fisk, turning around and strolling to a table on the far side of the room, “but you’ve given me no choice.”

Peter felt himself begin to tremble again as the horror of his situation set in. Had he been wrong? Should he have just given in?

 _No,_ he assured himself, _I won’t let him win. I can’t._

Fisk returned with a long, forked metal rod with a polished wooden handle and a trigger. Peter tensed in terror as Fisk clicked the trigger and he heard an electric buzzing.

“This my own personal device,” Fisk said, admiring the tool, “I had it specially designed. I like to think of it as a last resort. You see, the voltage and current of the prod has been specifically tailored to my liking. After a time, if you haven’t told me what I want to know, it will kill you.”

Every fiber of Peter’s being was shaking now. He suddenly felt cold. He had been electrified before, back when Black Cat had used and humiliated him*.

*In [Jessica Jones and Spider-Man: Crossed Your Path](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20910803)

That was how Black Cat had beaten him in the end: by leaving him a drooling and urine soaked mess on the floor. He didn’t want that to happen this time. He didn’t want that to be how he died.

“What is your name?” asked Fisk.

“I tahld you,” managed Peter through the cable, “Sier-mah…”

Fisk loud out a grunt of frustration as he thrust the prod into Peter’s ribs. Peter cried out in agony as he felt the burning sensation and the convulsions. Fisk kept the prod pressed there for several seconds. Peter could feel his eyes tear up as his wrists and ankles rattled against the restraints. His teeth ached as they tightened around the cable in his mouth.

“Pride doesn’t suit you, boy,” said Fisk quietly, but Peter could hear the anger in his voice.

 _He’s frustrated,_ thought Peter, _He thought I would break before now…_

Peter screamed in pain again as Fisk pressed into him again with the prod. His whole body was convulsing. His jaw and lips burned from the continued pressure against the cable. He felt himself trembling uncontrollably even as Fisk stopped shocking him. Drool dripped down his chin as he struggled to stay focused.

 _Am I…_ wondered Peter, having difficulty even thinking now, _What will happen if I fall asleep?_

He wailed again as he was shocked a third time. He could feel his heart speeding up more and more, pounding so hard it hurt. Fisk prodded him again and again. Every time it became harder to stay awake, harder not to give in and beg for mercy. Fisk roared in fury as he threw the prod to the floor. He grabbed Peter’s face and held tight, crushing his mouth down harder onto the cable in his mouth.

“TELL ME!” he snarled.

Peter was hyperventilating now, struggling to even keep a coherent understanding of what was happening. He wanted it to stop. He wanted to give in. He wanted to cry and plead, but he held it in. He inhaled shakily and thought about what would happen if Fisk won. He couldn’t let that happen.

After a moment, Fisk let go. Peter eyed him in bewilderment, having fully expected Fisk to kill him in that moment. Fisk looked away, took a deep breath and composed himself. He glared down at Peter.

“I’ve let my emotions get the best of me,” he admitted, “I must go and wash my face with cold water, refresh myself. Then we shall resume where we left off.”

Peter shivered weakly as he watched Fisk calmly walk over and into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Tears were welling in Peter’s eyes, but he kept them held in. He wouldn’t give Fisk the satisfaction of knowing he had broken him. He would die without letting Fisk see that.

Peter heard the door open and clenched his eyes in fear. He heard a shrill gasp, almost a scream.

“Oh my God…” whispered Jessica.

Peter’s eyes snapped open. There she was, standing at the entrance to the penthouse. He couldn’t believe it. She was here. She had found him. He had a chance. Suddenly he found it in him to have the strength to stay awake and the strength to power through. He even managed a small smile as his friend rushed up to him and began looking him over.

“Jesus... What has he done to you?”

Jessica looked at Peter’s state, horrified. She couldn’t bring herself to touch or comfort him. She just stared. Her eyes met Peter’s. He saw her lip quivering. She shook her head and knelt beside him, pulling at the cables on his wrist. They wouldn’t budge.

“Mnnnrhh!” groaned Peter, eyes wide and staring behind Jessica.

Jessica took the hint. She rose to her feet and spun around just as Fisk emerged from the bathroom, still wiping his face with a hand towel. He saw Jessica and said nothing. He merely tossed the towel aside and stared at her.

“You’re a monster,” spat Jessica.

“Jessica Jones,” noted Fisk, “I imagine this must be hard for you to see.”

“Come and get it, asshole!” cried Jessica, throwing up her fists.

“You want him?” chuckled Fisk, calmly approaching Jessica and leaning down to her, “Come then, take him from me!”

Jessica tightened her fist and threw the hardest right hook she had ever thrown in her life. She winced as her fist collided with the side of Fisk’s head. The massive man spun to the side, stumbling. Jessica groaned and shook out her wrist. It felt like she had punched a steel wall. She then looked up in disbelief as Fisk turned to face her, tilting his head to either side and cracking his neck.

“Shit,” muttered Jessica, “That usually works.”

Fisk let out a roar as he clasped his hands together, brought both of his arms into the air, and swung them down onto Jessica. Peter let out a gasp of fright, but Jessica threw her hands up and caught the blow. Peter saw her knees buckle ever so slightly. This man was massive. No normal human should have been able to go toe to toe with Jessica.

Fisk let out a roar and charged forward. Jessica gripped onto his jacket as he lifted her off the ground and bowled on forward. They collided with the table Fisk had eaten his dinner at, shattering the wood and sending the table setting everywhere.

Jessica fell to the ground as Fisk steadied his stance and caught his breath. He spun back to face her. He made a lunge and she leapt backward and dodged it. Then she charged him. She made a running leap and tackled him from below. At her full speed Jessica could hit someone with the force of a rhino. She carried Fisk up off the ground with her and landed him onto his back as she clung to his chest.

They hit the ground and Jessica punched Fisk across the face. Then she saw the knife Fisk had used to eat his fish. She grabbed it, took a moment to consider, looked Fisk in the eye, and brought the knife up over her head.

Peter couldn’t watch her do this. It would change her life forever. She wouldn’t be able to just walk away from this.

“Nnngh!” cried out Peter, “Jnnh! Dnnh!”

The knife stopped in place, inches from Fisk’s face. Jessica looked desperately to Peter. She knew what he meant. She tossed the knife aside with a face of resignation.

“Bahahaha!” Fisk guffawed, “How pathetic!”

Fisk threw Jessica off him, sending her flying across the penthouse. She landed hard on her shoulder but rolled up to her feet.

“This is why people like you will never win,” growled Fisk, “You don’t have the HEART to give it your all! To do what you need to do to WIN!”

Fisk turned to Peter. Then he charged at him. Jessica charged at Fisk.

“NO!” screamed Jessica, colliding with Fisk.

The collision grazed Peter and sent his chair careening over. He clenched his eyes and shouted out in pain as he landed hard on his side. Every cable cut into him upon the impact. He opened his eyes. He was facing a wall. He had no idea what was happening. He could hear both Jessica and Fisk grunting as they exchanged blows somewhere behind him. The grunts got louder and more desperate until he heard Jessica let out a guttural scream of anger. Then there was silence.

Peter let out a shrill gasp as he felt someone grab the chair. Who had one? Was it Jessica? What if it was Fisk? What would he do to him now? What if Jessica was dead? He didn’t know if he could handle that in this moment, even if it was just briefly before he died. He couldn’t bare the thought of Jessica dying because of him.

Then he heard the locking mechanism deactivate as his bonds loosened.

 _Is it…_ he wondered weakly, _Did she…?_

Peter rolled out of the chair and onto the floor, his whole body weak and shaking. He couldn’t stand, he couldn’t sit up, he couldn’t even bring himself to his knees. Everything hurt and everything was utterly draining to do or even think about. He felt Jessica’s hands slowly roll him over to face her. It _was_ her. She had won.

“Peter,” she said quietly, “Peter, oh my God…”

“Is… He…?” whimpered Peter.

“I took care of him,” she nodded, gently helping Peter up and into a sitting position, “He’s alive, but out cold. You’re safe, Peter.”

She had to hold him there to make sure he didn’t fall back down. He began shaking more. He felt his breathing speed up. He slowly began to curl up as Jessica let him lean into her, bringing him in and holding him there tight.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, clutching his head close to her, “You’re safe, Peter. You’re safe.”

It was over. It was finally over. Peter lowered his head into Jessica’s arms and at long last, he cried.

***

**Two weeks later…**

Jessica tightened her jacket. It had finally gotten cold out. She took another sip of her coffee and held back a shiver. She watched the doors to the dorm building in front of her closely until she saw Peter step out. She raised her hand into the air. He saw her and did the same. He walked over to her.

“Hi,” said Jessica after a short pause.

“Hi,” said Peter back, taking a moment before making eye contact.

Peter had sunglasses on. Jessica knew that was because the bruising was still there. The two stared at each other for another few moments until they both started walking. Neither of them said a word for the first few minutes. They just walked together silently. Soon they were off campus. After another few minutes Peter spoke up.

“I was just talking to Malcolm,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” nodded Peter, “It helps.”

When Peter was finally safe and back home, Jessica and Mary Jane had told him about Malcolm knowing his secret. Peter talked to Malcolm about it and began to work more closely with him as a counselor. Peter came clean about his other life and was pleasantly surprised when Malcolm not only approved, but offered his counseling services to help deal with the trauma. Jessica had to admit that it was helping a lot.

“How are you feeling?” asked Jessica, not entirely sure what kind of answer she was looking for.

“Better,” said Peter, “Physically I think I might be close to 100% again. My powers and everything are working fine.”

“That’s good,” she nodded, “and Red?”

“Better too, I think. Still pissed at you.”

“She’ll get over it,” grumbled Jessica.

Mary Jane had been found dangling at the crime scene in the chop shop and was brought in by the police. She told them she was with Jessica Jones, which eventually got her released on a technicality related to vigilante laws.

She was furious that Jessica and prevented her from coming to help Peter. Jessica didn’t regret her decision though. If Mary Jane had seen Peter the way Jessica had found him… It would have crushed her.

“Any word on the Russians?”

Following the incident, Jessica had submitted her evidence to the District Attorney’s Office. Their investigation into Fisk turned up evidence quite quickly, especially once the Bratva began to flip on him. They did this because he had left them completely without his support or protection when they were arrested, blaming them for revealing his location and identity.

“Peter...” cautioned Jessica.

“Come on,” he insisted, “It’s been driving me crazy since you saved me. I know you’ve been looking into to so just tell me-”

“They’re mostly dissolved at this point,” conceded Jessica, “The Bratva have no real power here anymore. The arrested ones are taking plea deals and the others are fleeing the city to get away from Fisk. Smerdyakov is in the wind. I should have known he’d find a way out of there. He’s ex-KGB espionage or some shit.”

“Smerdyakov…” said Peter pensively, “He’s the one that caught me.”

“Yes,” nodded Jessica, “Back in the KGB they called him The Chameleon.”

“I know,” said Peter, “He’s a master of disguise. That’s how he caught me, actually. He disguised himself as an old man being held hostage by the others. They forced me to surrender under the threat of killing him.”

“Sounds about right,” said Jessica, worried as always about Peter’s trusting nature.

“It won’t happen next time, though,” he said, “I’ll be ready for him.”

“You’re not thinking about getting back out there yet, are you?”

“Soon.”

“What are you going to do about a costume?”

Peter looked to the ground. The reminder that Fisk had ripped his own spider suit from his body was not a pleasant memory. It shamed him to think that that man had destroyed something that had meant so much to him for so long. He dismissed the feelings for now, planning to talk to Malcolm about them. He looked back up at Jessica.

“Luckily this time I don’t have to make it myself,” he said, “They sell plenty of replicas online now.”

“Bet it’ll look like shit on you,” chuckled Jessica.

“There she is!” smiled Peter.

“What?”

“That’s the first time you’ve made fun of me since this all went down.”

Jessica frowned at Peter. It was true. Since finding Peter tied up, naked, and humiliated like that, Jessica couldn’t bring herself to treat him the same way. Suddenly teasing him or embarrassing him even a little bit felt unspeakably cruel.

“I’ve missed it,” said Peter.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” said Peter, “Ever since I’ve been back it feels like I’m made of glass or something. Even MJ was tiptoeing around me like a fragile puppy or something.”

“How _are_ you and her?”

“I mean,” sighed Peter, “certainly better than one would _think_ we’d be after going through something like this. I was sure she’d want to leave after I put her through that.”

“You didn’t put her through anything,” said Jessica firmly, “Fisk did.”

“Right.”

“But you two are fine?”

“Yeah,” said Peter, “We’ve been talking about it a lot. Malcolm’s been helping with that too. It’s nice that he managed to get me some academic leave out of it.”

“You were tortured,” said Jessica, “You needed it.”

“Yeah,” admitted Peter, “Anyway, I did at least get MJ to start treating me somewhat normally again.”

Jessica nodded. The two continued walking in silence for a short while longer. Jessica tossed her empty coffee into a trash can, awkwardly putting her hands into her jacket pockets as they continued to walk in silence.

“Do you think you could do the same?” asked Peter.

“What?”

“Do you think you could stop handling me with kid gloves?”

“You actually _want_ me to pick on you?”

“I _want_ you to start acting like Jessica Jones again.”

She smirked at him. He smiled back. Jessica threw her arm around his head and pulled him into a headlock.

“Glad to hear you say that,” she sneered, “because I have a wet willy with your name on it!”

“Hey!” laughed Peter playfully.

Then he cringed as he felt the spit-soaked finger plug into his ear.

“Aw, gross!”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this one as a present to Zenith Morningstar, who also helped with the story and drew the cover art. The tone and focus are somewhat different here compared to most of my stories


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